


an empty hearth

by Ireliss



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bodyguard, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireliss/pseuds/Ireliss
Summary: The nighttime city, shrouded in fog.(Logan works for Shaw, guarding his pretty young boyfriend. They grow closer than they should.)
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Charles Xavier, Sebastian Shaw/Charles Xavier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2020





	an empty hearth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gerec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Gerec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec) in the [xmenrarepairs20](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs20) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
>
>> Charles belongs to Shaw (or ESN, or your choice of character), who is very possessive of his prized mate/omega/husband/prisoner/whatever. Logan is a mercenary hired to guard Charles at all times. Logan falls in love with his charge. It becomes more and more unbearable as time passes, especially when Shaw doesn't particularly care to keep his bedroom activities IN the bedroom (and in fact, quite likes having an audience).
> 
>   
> Note: there's an explicit scene with some BDSM undertones + subspacing but that's not the focus of this fic. Additional warnings include belting, rimming, very light bondage  
> Many, many thanks to lyricfulloflight and flightinflame for their wonderful beta work! 

The fog swirls cold and heavy against Logan’s face. Nights like these, the city feels less real, yellow streetlights gone hazy burnt umber, the asphalt roads still wet from the earlier rain. Ahead of him looms Shaw’s building, a tall dark shadow bathed by the glow of neon.

Az and Janos are on duty, and Logan stops only long enough to exchange a brusque nod with them before shouldering past the front door and into the opulent foyer. A blast of warm air hits him; Logan squints against the glare of light reflecting off marble and gold as he shakes himself like a dog, trying to work off some of the damp cold that had settled into his bones. _Getting too damn old,_ he thinks, not for the first time that day.

The doorman waves him through into the lift. As the lift ascends sleekly, Logan slouches into a corner, watching the numbers tick higher and higher as tasteful classical music fills the air, a meaningless drone in his ears. It’s a relief when the ding announces his arrival. Into Shaw’s penthouse he goes, walking past another two of his goons (what’s Shaw need him for when he’s got so many guards already?), and stepping into the apartment proper.

The massive window is the first thing he sees, and through that, the skyline, all blocky geometric shapes as the city sprawls below him, a thousand points of light illuminating the darkness. Fog and mist hang over everything, diffusing the city lights into a murky haze.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

Logan’s attention snaps to the two other people in the room with him. The first is Shaw, who hasn’t changed one bit since the last time Logan saw him: same expensive suit, same smug smile. He has one arm casually wrapped around the waist of the second occupant of the room.

That must be him. The kid he’s supposed to babysit, Charles Xavier, better known around Logan’s circles as _the boss’s boytoy, can’t believe he’s still around._ Shaw moves through his conquests quickly, but Xavier has been with him for, what, two, three years now? Well, now that Logan’s got a good look at him, he can see the appeal. Xavier’s got the sort of face that’s perpetually boyish and youthful, but he carries himself with the confidence of someone much older, utterly at ease even though Shaw must be groping him where Logan can’t see, the horny bastard.

“That’s the first thing everyone notices,” Shaw continues. “The view. Can’t get that sort of view in many other places.”

Logan wishes he had a cigar. “Not the only good view here,” he grunts, jerking his head at Charles. “Is he my assignment or what?”

Shaw lets out a low, indulgent chuckle. “You’re an honest man, Logan. I appreciate that. Yes, this is Charles, I don’t believe you’ve met before? I can be,” his thin lips twitch, “very possessive.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” the kid says, and although Logan hadn’t expected that crisp British accent, it fits him. Xavier steps smoothly out of Shaw’s hold and shakes Logan’s hand; his grip is firm and confident, and he smiles with his whole body, warm as sunlight.

“Yeah.” Logan folds his arms. “So what am I protecting you from?”

Xavier laughs. In the light of the room, his skin glows with warm tones of honey. “Sebastian is right, you go straight to the point, I see.”

“Just here to do my job, that’s all.”

Shaw wraps his arm around Xavier again, who fits himself neatly against his side, clearly accustomed to the attention. “What do you think, sweetheart? Are you happy with Logan here, or should I send for someone else?”

Xavier’s eyes sweep over him, sharp and assessing. Then he smiles. “I think we’ll get along splendidly.”

***

Xavier – “Call me Charles, please, there’s no need to stand on formality when we’ll be in such intimate quarters with each other,” – had just hit his twenties and is currently in the middle of his first year in law school after graduating at the top of his year with a B.Sc. in Psychology. He is from old money, flawlessly fitting in with the echoing high-vaulted arches of university. In class, he is a lively, animated presence, hands flitting through the air with bird-like grace as he debates a particularly arcane point in property law, the sort that has his peers grumbling in their seats as he draws in case law from far beyond the scope of their current course. But Charles is the sort of person impossible to hold a grudge against; he’s unfailingly generous, bright-eyed and earnest and a shameless flirt to boot. He has a way of making people feel like they’re the centre of the universe, and he makes the prettiest little whimpers as he chokes on Shaw’s cock.

“You two wanna try keep it down a bit?” Logan grumbles, three weeks into the assignment, his eyes tracking Charles’ progress as he staggers from Shaw’s bedroom to the kitchen in the graceless, self-satisfied manner of the well-fucked.

Charles leans against the countertop, angling his head to look at Logan over one pale shoulder. His upper torso is bare, skin sleek and soft, rosy against the gold-veined white of the marble counter. A darkening bruise peeks over the waistband of his shorts. “Did we disturb you?” His lips part in a smile.

“Forget it.”

There’s a quiet splash of water as Charles turns on the tap. A moment later, Charles saunters in front of him, offering him a glass. “Have you been working for Sebastian for very long?”

Logan frowns at him but takes the glass anyway. “Few years, yeah. Why?”

“Then you should know Sebastian has very particular tastes.” Charles blinks slowly. His hair curls around his face, still wet from the shower. “I do my best to be accommodating.”

“Accommodating, right.” Shaking his head, Logan snorts, draining half the glass in one gulp.

“You don’t approve.”

“Makes no difference what I think.” Charles is one fucked up kid is what he thinks, and it’s a miracle everybody else seems blind to his bullshit, especially those other guys at that fancy law school of his.

He’s a bit annoyed when _Charles_ is the one to laugh instead, resting one hand against Logan’s muscular forearm. “That act of yours fools no one, my friend.”

Logan scowls, but doesn’t shake Charles off. “What act?”

“The one where you pretend there’s nothing inside you–” Charles’ fingers trail up Logan’s bicep, then across his chest, resting against his heart, “–here.”

Logan pushes Charles’ hand away. “Save that psychology shit for school. I’m not interested.”

The smile on Charles’ face doesn’t waver. Neither does the intensity of his gaze. “It doesn’t change the truth.”

***

Every week, Logan gets a couple of nights off; Shaw likes his hired muscle to keep their skills sharp, and Charles is well-guarded inside the penthouse apartment.

So Logan trains. Fights. Shoots. And afterwards, when his blood is running high and his pulse thunders in his ears, he stalks into the twisting streets of the city and loses himself among the maze of neon. Things get hazy from there, his senses muddled by the deep pounding bass of the nightclub, the cigar smoke and alcohol, the press of a swaying body against his own, rough bedsheets scratching at his back as the springs creak and groan.

It’s nearly five by the time he starts on his meandering way across the city, heading back to the penthouse. He likes the city at this time of the day, the glare of neon extinguished as the city hunkers down for another hour or two before the morning rush.

Shame the peace can’t last forever. “Good night?” Az leers as Logan shoves past him into Shaw’s building. Logan ignores him. The lift ride is worse; the screech of violins makes him scowl and tap his foot, longing for the calm of the city.

At least the penthouse is dark and quiet. Logan’s about ready to collapse into bed and catch a few hours of shut-eye before another day of shadowing Charles through his classes, but as he picks his way through the penthouse to his assigned room, he sees a beam of light across the floor, a sullen glow against the darkness. Huh. The light’s coming from Charles’ study, spooling out from underneath the closed door.

Logan knocks softly. His keen ears pick up the sound of shuffling papers, then Charles says: “Is that you, Logan?”

“Yeah.”

“Come in.”

Charles is sitting at the desk, looking awake and alert despite the late hour. He’s wearing a shirt too big for him, hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his feet are bare against the soft carpet. On the desk, his laptop is propped open and, tellingly, his trademark mug of tea is empty, a sure sign that he had been too absorbed in his work to go for a refill. “You’ve been out late,” Charles remarks before Logan can get a word in. Then he sniffs the air and makes a face. “Why are you – go have a bath, go on. I can smell the smoke on you – among other things.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Logan grunts, moving to crowd Charles against the desk. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Why are you up so late? You’ve got classes tomorrow.”

Charles glances up at him, then looks back at the screen. Its harsh light washes out the blue of his eyes. “I have a few deadlines coming up, you know how school is.”

Huh. Logan leans against the desk. “The boss keep you up too late?”

Again comes that quick flicker of Charles’ gaze, this time creased by a frown. “No, I can accommodate his schedule perfectly well, you know that.”

The kid is definitely hiding something. When Charles talks to someone, he always looks at them straight in the eye, giving them the full force of his attention. Not that it’s any of Logan’s business, but when he looks at Charles wearing Shaw’s shirt, bites scattered around his collarbones, bruises in the shape of fingertips darkening the base of his neck…

He should leave. He doesn’t.

“What are you working on anyway?” He glances at Charles’ screen, then at the articles scattered haphazardly around his desk, and lets out a low whistle. “Incest law, huh? Don’t remember that coming up in your class.”

_Click_ goes the mouse, and another page loads, rows and rows of black text marching across the screen. “It’s a research assignment, we’re meant to pick something we haven’t studied yet.”

“So you picked this? Pretty heavy stuff.”

Charles’ eyes never leave the monitor. “Believe me, there are far worse crimes.”

Damn. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s still pretty high up there.”

“It depends on the circumstances, doesn’t it?” _Click, click, click._ “You and I both know the world isn’t as black and white as people like to believe.”

“Nah, but some things are pretty clear-cut.” Don’t fuck your kids. Don’t date shady possessive business moguls when you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t stay in the bodyguarding business just ‘cause you’ve got no idea what to do with your life and barely any memory of your past.

Irritably, Logan shakes off the thoughts. “Come on. Time for bed.”

“I can’t yet, it’s not done–”

“So what? It’s probably not due for another month.”

The corners of Charles’ mouth twitch. “Two weeks,” he concedes. “But I do want to finish it tonight.”

“What’s the rush?”

“You’re asking an awful lot of questions tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be asking you questions if you’re in bed like you should be.”

Charles makes an exasperated noise, but he’s smiling, and there’s a strange fond look in his eyes that makes Logan’s heart clench. “All right, you’ve made your point, I’ll finish up a moment.”

“Good.”

***

Logan’s done his fair share of jobs in his time, ranging from really damn boring to really damn fucked up, but something about this job raises his hackles in a way that’s never happened before.

By day, everything is so normal that he could be bodyguarding any other rich kid – but Logan’s gotta admit, he wouldn’t be enjoying himself nearly so much if it’s some other kid he’s guarding. There’s just _something_ about Charles that captures his attention and holds it. Logan could listen to him talk all day, unabashedly joyous as he discusses the finer points of whatever article had caught his interest. Charles’ passion radiates from him like a wave, his _need_ to share his joy overflowing from him in a tide so infectious that even someone like Logan can’t help being caught up in it.

Evenings at the penthouse, however…

It usually starts like this: Charles and Shaw on the couch together, the television droning in the background. Often, one or both of them bring their work along, laptop propped open and a bundle of papers on the couch. Shaw is the one to carry on most of the conversation, while Charles makes noises of agreement and pretty, shallow comments – a far cry from the sharp and clever creature he is at university. But sometimes he forgets himself; Charles shines too brightly to be dimmed for long. He talks back, debates, argues – and that’s when Shaw makes his move.

Surging forward, fast and predatory in a way that makes Logan jump to attention, Shaw cuts Charles off in the middle of a sentence with a rough kiss. His superior height and weight bears Charles down to land on the sofa with a heavy thump. “What did I tell you about talking back, hmm?” Shaw growls, already tearing at Charles’ tie.

And Charles – Charles just _moans,_ wrapping his arms around Shaw’s shoulders, all his clever words silenced.

Sometimes, that’s when Shaw drags the two of them back to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way, and Logan is free to slink off somewhere and have a drink and smoke.

Other times, like tonight, Shaw wants an audience. Logan’s got no choice but to slouch against the wall and watch as Shaw strips off Charles’ clothing, the neat button-up following the tie, followed by the undershirt, the belt, slacks… It all ends up in a messy pile on the floor, and Charles and Shaw exchange rough, sloppy kisses all the while, Charles making those sweet noises of his like he can’t get enough of Shaw’s attention.

It makes no sense to Logan. Charles could have anyone he wanted, anyone at all, so – why Shaw? Why someone who only wants a pretty, youthful body to fuck, someone who doesn’t give a damn about Charles’ keen mind?

Logan tries to keep his attention on the television, still droning away in the background, but it’s impossible. “Oh, please,” comes the sound of Charles’ voice, punctuated with a breathless moan, and Shaw laughs.

“You want it?”

“Make me feel it, please–”

Logan’s got a perfect view from where he’s standing: Shaw flips Charles over, face-down, bending him over the armrest. Charles is completely nude, his skin looking even paler than usual against the dark leather of the couch, almost sickly in its pallor. He wiggles, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position, but then Shaw barks an order and Charles falls still, his spine curved at an awkward angle that he’s sure to feel later. He doesn’t resist as Shaw grabs his wrists and crosses them behind his back, securing them with Charles’ own tie; to Logan’s trained eye, the knot is too tight, but since when had Shaw cared?

For that matter, when had Charles?

If anything, Charles looks more eager for it than ever, licking his lips as he tries to crane his neck and look back at Shaw, even though his muscles must be screaming by now. Visibly trembling with the effort, he arches his back and lifts his hips invitingly. “Come on, I won’t break, you know that,” he all but purrs, both a seduction and a challenge. Logan’s mouth goes dry.

Those words aren’t directed at him, of course. He’s just a set piece here, because Shaw’s got his kinks and he likes it when somebody watches, and Charles – well, Logan doesn’t know. He’s with the kid almost every hour of the day and he’s still a mystery wrapped in earnest blue eyes and an aura of unshakable confidence, which is just the way Logan likes it. Last thing he needs is to get attached.

It still doesn’t stop him from baring his teeth in a silent snarl as Shaw picks up Charles’ belt, doubles it over into itself, then brings the whole length of it down across the span of Charles’ shoulderblades. Charles jumps. His whole body seizes up, but he makes no sound except a ragged gasp.

The belt whips through the air again, red blooming against Charles’ back. Logan’s hands clench with the urge to jump across the room and wrestle the belt from Shaw’s grasp.

“That’s my boy,” Shaw praises. He’s on his feet, one hand fisted into the curly hair at Charles’ nape and holding him down with ease. The other continues to wield the belt. Again and again comes the slap of leather against flesh. Soon, Charles is jerking and squirming under the rain of blows, and Logan’s nails are digging deep into his palms, almost hard enough to draw blood.

Then Shaw belts Charles across the thighs and Charles _shouts,_ jumping. His eyes are screwed shut, wetness beading against his lashes, colour high on his cheeks as he gasps from the strain, but his vulnerability only goads Shaw on. Still holding Charles down by the hair, he brings the belt down again, this time across Charles’ ass. A line of angry red appears. Another swiftly follows. Then another. Charles tosses his head, whimpering high in his throat. His hips rock in small, abortive movements, rubbing against the leather of the couch needily in one moment, and in the next moment Charles juts his ass out without shame, moaning in feverish pleasure as Shaw continues beat him red and raw.

With a careless motion, Shaw suddenly tosses the belt aside and clambers onto the couch. Rough, greedy hands reach out to grope and knead at Charles’ reddened flesh, making Charles squirm. “Come on,” he gasps, breathless, and moans again as Shaw squeezes the curve of his ass and parts the cheeks roughly, revealing his hole, already red and clenching. “Hurry up, now, _please–”_

“Still so polite,” Shaw teases, and anger coils in Logan’s chest as he watches Shaw lean in close, blowing a low hot stream of air right against Charles’ hole, making him keen softly, hips rocking. The low keens quickly turn into a strangled shout as Shaw begins to lick him there in earnest, filling the air with wet, obscene noises as Charles writhes and Logan shifts uncomfortably, torn between disgust and arousal.

Fucking hell. What’s the kid doing to him, making him feel like this?

Shaw’s never got the patience to tease for too long, especially when Charles has his legs sprawled wide open, begging for it with his whole body. Soon enough, Logan’s ears are filled with the slap of flesh as Shaw brings his palm cracking down across Charles’ skin, spanking him mercilessly. Charles’ flushed skin grows redder still, and he must be burning with pain by now, but instead he has a blissed out, empty look in his eyes that sends Logan’s instincts prickling.

He can’t do anything about it, though. Logan gives up on trying to watch the television and just watches the show in front of him. Shaw keeps Charles bent over the armrest, fucking him in rough, brutal thrusts. Charles has his legs spread and just _takes_ it, mouth hanging slightly open. His expression is faraway. Quiet noises escape from him, unrestrained, soft gasps punched out of him by the force of Shaw’s rough mounting.

Shaw’s movements reach a frenzied peak. He manhandles Charles with ease, hoisting him up by the hips, forcing Charles’ back to arch painfully as Shaw drives into him with increasingly vicious thrusts, powerful enough to rock Charles’ whole body. Then, with a visible full-body shudder, Shaw groans and stills, collapsing on top of Charles without any care.

Not for the first time that night, Logan itches with the urge to grab Shaw and toss him aside, far from Charles. It doesn’t help when Charles squirms, his face drawn tight with pain. Shaw doesn’t care; he never does. He takes his sweet time pulling out, petting Charles fondly, mouthing indistinct words of affection, but he makes no move to untie Charles or even get him off.

Then Shaw’s phone vibrates, a harsh buzzing drone like a swarm of locusts. Instantly, Shaw’s whole attitude changes, snapping from sated and leisurely into full _slimy loan shark mode,_ as Logan liked to think of it. “ _Finally._ They were supposed to start that conference call a few minutes ago. Logan! Take care of this.”

Logan’s skin crawls at being addressed by Shaw, but he grunts an acknowledgement. “You got it, boss.”

“Good.” Shaw grumbles to himself as he gets decent again, before grabbing his phone and hurrying off without a backward glance.

Silence falls over the room. Logan sneaks a glance at Charles, but Charles is looking at nowhere in particular, his eyes glassy and wide. His breathing is shallow, and Logan can see the subtle trembling all along his body.

“You all right, Chuck?”

No response. Logan bites back a groan of frustration. Fucking Shaw; Logan’s never liked being the one to clean up his messes, and he likes it even less when Charles is involved. “I’m gonna untie you now. Hold still, it’s probably gonna hurt.”

To Logan’s relief, Charles responds this time, even if it’s just the barest dip of his head. The tie binding Charles’ wrists is way too damn tight, but Logan’s had plenty of practice with knots, and before long he’s listening to the sound of Charles’ pained gasps as the circulation returns to his arms. “Take it easy,” Logan says as Charles tries to push himself up, only for his arms to give out on him. “Hey, just relax, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”

Charles nods again. His eyes are still unfocused, and he seems to be responding to Logan’s presence rather than his words. It’s not the first time Logan’s seen Charles like this, so he knows Charles is fine – _will_ be fine – but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, seeing Charles with all his cleverness and charm be reduced to _this._

He gives Charles a few more seconds to rest, then he starts tugging Charles back to his feet. “Come on now. Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.” Before Shaw comes back with more ideas.

Charles makes a noise of complaint, but he leans into Logan’s touch like a cat seeking attention and allows himself to be pulled up, legs wobbling, resting most of his weight against Logan. Together, they make their ungraceful, ungainly way to the bedroom that Charles shares with Shaw. Midway through, Charles begins to regain some lucidity, and by the time they reach the room he’s more or less walking under his own power.

“Feeling yourself again?” Logan asks as Charles collapses into the bed.

“Mm, yes.” Charles rubs his eyes blearily. He’s pale and rumpled against the wine-red sheets, swallowed by the massive bed. “Where’s Sebastian?”

“Had to take a call.”

“He ordered you to look after me, I assume?” Charles frowns. “I’m so sorry, I’ve already asked him not to do that.”

Logan shrugs, not liking the thought of being asked to _not_ look out for Charles. “Why? It’s what Shaw’s paying me for.”

A small frown creases Charles’ forehead, then vanishes, and Charles smiles at him with that polished socialite smile of his, the one that reveals nothing but bland courtesy. “I think I’d like to get some sleep now. Thank you again, Logan.”

It’s an abrupt dismissal, but maybe Charles just wants to be left alone to lick his wounds. Logan should just go. But his feet don’t listen to him. He ends up taking an awkward shuffling step then stops, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight.

“Look.” Aw, hell, whatever, he’ll just come out and say it, because Charles needs to hear it. “It’s none of my business what goes on between you and the boss, we all know that. But you need to put your foot down with him. Some of the shit he gets up to… Someday soon, you’re gonna get hurt. Bad.”

“I’ll do my utmost to avoid inconveniencing you that way,” Charles says, wry. His head is turned away from Logan.

Logan growls softly. “You think this is funny?”

“I think I’d like to sleep now,” Charles repeats, pulling the blankets up around himself. Logan can’t take his eyes off the curve of Charles’ shoulder, and he hates himself for it, just a little. “Goodnight, Logan.”

***

Next morning, Shaw corners Logan (before he’s even had a chance to get coffee, asshole). “Logan! Just the man I was looking for. I’ll be away the whole of next week for a business trip. You keep a good eye on Charles while I’m gone, understand?”

Logan grunts. “That’s sudden.”

“Those clowns at the legal department bungled the Essex contract. I need to fly down there and sort it out.” Shaw’s got a smile on his face, the unpleasant cold sort that says heads are going to roll – maybe literally. Logan wouldn’t put it past him. “It’s a shame Charles still has a few years to go before he’s ready to join the company. He’s got better instincts than the rest of the team put together.”

“Guess so.” Privately, Logan thinks Charles is way too damn _nice_ to get caught up in Shaw’s dirty business, but then, Charles is the one fucking Shaw, so what does Logan know? “When are you leaving?”

“Today.”

“That soon? Must be some emergency.”

“You have no idea.” Shaw shakes his head dismissively. “I expect you to look after Charles while I’m gone. It shouldn’t be too hard, he’s working on a big project so he should be in the apartment any time he’s not in class or at the library. Make sure he doesn’t wander out, will you? I don’t want him…distracted.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good man. You have my number in case of any emergencies, of course.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Shaw claps him companionably on the shoulder as he walks away. Logan, caffeine-deprived and with the memory of Shaw wielding Charles’ belt fresh in mind, has to fight the urge to growl at Shaw’s touch.

His mood doesn’t improve when Shaw ropes him into playing chauffeur for the trip to the airport. The traffic is awful, and in the backseat Shaw and Charles are wrapped up in each other to the point that Logan wonders whether Shaw’s gonna have Charles get down on his knees and suck him off right then and there. It doesn’t happen (small mercies), but Logan’s’ grip on the steering wheel tightens as he watches Charles wince every time he moves.

At the airport, he’s treated to the sight of a long, lingering goodbye kiss. Charles is the perfect doting young lover, winding his arms around Shaw’s shoulder and kissing him as if he can’t bear to let go. Hell, the kiss goes on for so long they’re attracting stares, and some sort of animal instinct in Logan growls angrily at Shaw, at all those passerbys that can’t mind their own damn business, at Charles and at the whole world.

In the end Shaw is the one to chuckle indulgently and push Charles away. Charles waves until Shaw is out of sight, disappearing behind a barrier. Then his arm drops to hang limply against his side. But still he stands there, staring, until Logan clears his throat. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, let’s.”

The trip back to the car is silent. Logan watches the way Charles favours his left side, walking slower than usual. Charles watches nothing at all.

When they get to the car, Logan holds the door open for Charles. “Where to?”

Charles carefully eases himself into the seat, wincing as he settles in. “University, please. I should still be able to make afternoon classes.”

“You got it.”

Silence again. It’s starting to grate on Logan’s nerves. Usually Charles is full of chatter, irrepressible in his attempts to lure Logan into conversation until Logan finds himself talking more than he had in weeks. Today, however, Charles stares mutely out of the window, lost in thought.

Not that there’s anything to see out there. Traffic’s even worse now. Cars surround them, left and right, front and back. Nothing to do except slowly inch forward whenever a bit of room opens up. It’s like time itself has stopped, and he and Charles are trapped in an endless, uncomfortable stasis. Even when Charles’ phone buzzes, he rejects the call without a word, throwing the two of them back into silence.

Frustrated, Logan flexes his hands against the steering wheel until he can’t take it any longer.

“Quite a show you put on back at the airport. With Shaw.”

“Hm?” Charles goes still, but he doesn’t turn away from the window. “Oh, yes, we did get slightly carried away. I hope we didn’t make too much of a scene.”

“You kinda did, yeah. You gonna miss him?”

Finally, Charles turns to face him. A sharp light glitters in his eyes. “What do you want, Logan? What are you really asking all these questions for?”

…Good question. Uneasy, Logan keeps his eyes on the road. “Forget I said anything.”

It’s not any of his business. Maybe if he repeats that mantra enough times, it’ll become true.

They make it to university just in time for Charles to catch the last class of the day. The instant Charles steps into the halls of the university, he becomes a different person. Gone is the slight limp he’s had all day; instead, with his hands in his pockets, Charles walks with a confident, studied nonchalance, his back straight and an easy smile on his face. Class involves preparations for some sort of mock trial. Logan skulks around the back of the lecture hall, watching as Charles spends most of his time coaching his fellow students. He is earnest and charming, patient and encouraging in turn, utterly in his element. Hell, more than one of his classmates look half in love with him.

Not for the first time, Logan wonders what someone like Charles is doing with Shaw.

After class ends, the students mill around in chattering groups, slowly filtering out of the lecture hall as they discuss their plans for the weekend. Someone from Charles’ group says something to him; Charles laughs and shakes his head, then nods in Logan’s direction. His classmate glances at Logan, then looks away just as quickly, clearly unnerved. Logan snorts. _Kids._

Charles’ group doesn’t stick around for much longer afterwards, clearing out without a backward glance. Charles doesn’t go with them. He heads to Logan instead, and Logan cocks his head, unfolding himself from where he’d been lounging by the wall. “What, not going out for drinks with that lot?”

“Maybe another time.” Charles says it lightly, but there’s a wistful look in his eyes as he watches the retreating backs of his classmates.

“You know what they say about all work and no play.”

A wry smile. “I’ve had more than enough of play lately. Come on. Let’s go back to the apartment.”

_Make sure he doesn’t wander out, will you?_ Shaw’s orders from earlier ring in Logan’s head. But before he can think of a response, Charles is already heading off, steps brisk.

Logan follows. It’s his job, even if some days he has no idea whether he’s Charles’ bodyguard or his jailer.

***

Over the weekend, Charles doesn’t try to leave the apartment even once. Hell, he even ignores phone calls unless they’re from Shaw. Logan tries not to think too much of it, the same way he tries not to think of himself as a goddamn mother hen, heckling Charles into eating and sleeping properly, swinging by every couple of hours to make sure he’s not keeping his nose permanently buried in a book.

The beginning of the week passes by much in the same way: straight to school, then straight back to the penthouse. Hours of quiet study. Food. More study. Rinse and repeat. Charles barely says five words to him, but in the late hours of the night Logan can hear the soft sounds of conversation. Charles has arranged nightly video calls with Shaw, Logan assumes. He tries not to listen in, but his hearing’s always been keen, and Charles doesn’t take any particular care to keep his voice down when he pleasures himself to Shaw’s instructions. Logan’s nights become filled with Charles’ sweet moans, the rustling shift of expensive bedsheets, the smell of cigar smoke when he finally breaks and escapes to the rooftop for some peace and quiet.

Charles joins him there on Thursday night, a soundless shadow gliding up the stairs to slip next to Logan. Their shoulders bump together as Charles settles into place.

“Things aren’t going well with the contract,” Charles tells him, face upturned to the night sky. There’s not a star in sight. “Sebastian won’t be back until the week after next at the very earliest.”

Logan exhales slowly, smoke curling through the air to join the haze that hangs over the city. “Uh-huh.”

Silence again. The air is damp with the promise of rain. The metal of the guardrail digs into Logan’s forearm.

Then Charles sighs. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been very fair to you lately.”

“…Where’d that come from?”

Charles touches his forearm, and as though he’s being pulled along by some invisible string, Logan turns to face him. They’re both hidden in shadow, but the neon lights of the city below steal through the smoke-haze, amber light casting Charles’ face in sharp chiaroscuro. “I like you,” he says simply. “More than I should.”

Logan goes tense, animal instinct rearing its head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You barely know anything about yourself,” Charles counters. “I’ve read your file, you know. I tried to do a bit of investigating myself, to try give you back some of your past.”

“Yeah? And you never thought to ask if I even wanted it?”

“No. Sebastian caught wind of my activities before I got anywhere.”

“And what’d he do after that, bend you over on his knees and give you a good beating?”

A ghost of a smile. “Something like that.”

They stare at each other, Logan bristling, Charles unapologetic. He can be a right bastard sometimes, Charles, too smart for his own good, convinced he knows better than anyone else how to handle their problems. But some part of Logan is – _touched,_ maybe that’s the word, touched that Charles cared enough to try help him in his own high-handed way.

Logan takes another puff on his cigar. Warm smoke tickles his throat, fills his lungs; he exhales, slow, breathing out his momentary burst of temper, allowing it to disperse into the sky all around them.

“Are you heading back down?” He eventually asks.

“Maybe in a few minutes,” Charles says, but he takes another step closer, resting his forearms against the guardrail as his eyes drift shut. It doesn’t feel right to disturb him, so Logan puts out his cigar and watches the ash tumble away, specks of grey swallowed by the night.

***

Shaw’s trip drags on. Charles continues to spend all his time either at university or in the apartment until Logan can’t remember the last time Charles had spoken to anyone outside of class. More calls come; Charles rejects every single one of them. “You can’t be that busy,” Logan comments as Charles declines yet another invitation from his classmates. “The rest of them sure aren’t.”

Charles only laughs and drags the two of them to the library. Somehow Logan finds himself with a book in his hands and enjoying it.

In retaliation, he herds Charles into the gym that evening. Shaw likes his pets fit and pretty, so he has a private gym in the penthouse where Charles spends a bit of time every week, doing cardio or flexibility exercises or whatever the fuck. Logan has something different in mind. After he leads them through warm-ups, Logan brings out the boxing gloves. Charles’ eyes light up.

“What a nice surprise!” He’s all smiles, taking the gloves with a casual ease that implies familiarity.

“You’ve done this before?”

“For a few years back in school. Mind you, it was only on a casual basis, but I did enjoy it very much.”

“Huh.” He didn’t think Charles – polished, academic, socialite Charles – would be the type.

His thoughts must have been obvious, because Charles grins. “I joined for the view at first,” he admits, eyes lingering on Logan’s broad chest and shoulders, “but I ended up enjoying the sport more than I expected.”

“Yeah? Let’s see how much you remember.”

It’s not remotely a fair competition. Charles is quick and light on his feet and lands his punches with surprising strength, but Logan’s spent _years_ in the arena before Shaw picked him up. It’s an effort to hold himself back, to curb the feral instinct that bays at him to fight with everything he’s got, to grapple his enemy into the unforgiving metal links of the cage and pummel him into submission…

Then Charles grins at him, cheeky, blue-eyed and tousle-haired, and Logan snaps back into the present. “You little shit,” he growls playfully, meeting Charles’ grin with one of his own, “let’s see if you’re still laughing by the time I’m done with you.”

They go for a few rounds, Logan goading Charles to go faster, harder. Charles responds eagerly. Before long, both of them have worked up a sweat, and although Charles wears an expression of intense concentration, the colour is high on his cheeks and every time their eyes meet, Charles’ mouth quirks up in a smile.

“Better,” Logan grunts, after Charles strikes with a lightning-quick double punch that sends him staggering despite his guard. “Again.”

Logan pushes the two of them until they’re both panting for breath and Charles’ precise strikes begin to flag. Only then does he call for a break. “A splendid idea,” Charles groans, already shucking off the gloves.

“Had enough already?”

“For the moment. We’re not all seasoned fighters like you.” Another flash of a smile, then Charles heads over to the bench, tugging off his shirt as he goes.

Logan’s eyes are irresistibly drawn to the shift of muscle across Charles’ back. The bright gym lights glance off his skin, illuminating the sheen of sweat; Charles bends to reach for his water bottle, his spine a perfect curving arch, his hands steady despite the strenuous workout.

“Ahh.” Charles’ tongue swipes against the neck of the bottle as he takes a long, deep drink, sighing out a low noise of pleasure.

Logan still can’t tear his eyes away. He watches as Charles’ lips purse around the bottle’s neck once more, catching a glimpse of red as Charles’ tongue curls around the grooves to catch every single drop of water.

If Logan didn’t know better, he’d say Charles is doing this on purpose.

But Charles wouldn’t. Shaw’s presence lurks around every corner even though the man is two states away. Logan’s just seeing things.

“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Get back here, we aren’t done yet.”

“This must be the shortest break I’ve ever taken,” Charles says lightly as he upends the rest of the water over his head. Logan’s mouth goes dry as his eyes track the progress of the droplets running down Charles’ cheek, down the pale column of his neck, pooling against his collarbones.

Charles meets his eyes boldly. He smiles.

Well, _fuck._

***

“…No, I’m very sure. …Yes. Yes, I want my name off that paper, we’ve already discussed this. …I’m sorry?”

Charles has been on the phone for a good half hour now, and Logan’s starting to get antsy – mostly because Charles looks like he’s starting to lose his usual cool. His fingers drum against the desk, and there’s a tight, unhappy pinch at the corners of his mouth as whoever is on the other end of the line drones on and on.

“That won’t be necessary.” Out comes the lawyer voice, a thin veneer of politeness coating the honed edge of a razor. “Yes, I’m aware that this is rather irregular, but I really must insist. … _No,_ of course the data is reliable, are you questioning my integrity now?”

On and on it goes, voices rising and falling, Charles toeing the line of politeness but never once going crossing the line, well-bred old money scion that he is. They reach some sort of agreement in the end – at least that’s what Logan thinks, hell if he can keep up with the conversation – and Charles bids the other person a cordial goodbye.

Then he ends the call with a vicious jab of his finger and tosses his phone carelessly onto the desk, slumping into his chair with a sigh.

Logan should probably keep his mouth shut but, hey, curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back. “What was that all about?”

Charles blinks and starts, as if he had forgotten about Logan’s presence completely. “Oh, that?” He shakes his head. A stray curl of hair falls into his eyes, but he makes no move to brush it away. “An old academic supervisor of mine. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Huh. That so. Sounded like he got you pretty worked up.”

“It’s something of an on-going dispute.” Charles’ reassuring smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“You’re being rather inquisitive.”

Logan shrugs. “Just trying to make sure there’s no trouble coming our way.”

“There won’t be.” Charles’ tongue darts out to wet his lips, a sure-fire sign that he’s mulling over whether to say more or not. Logan waits; he’s a hunter, he knows how to bide his time.

He’s rewarded when Charles exhales softly, shoulders slumping. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the study, his skin is pallid. “I worked under him for one of my undergrad projects. He’s been trying to contact me lately because he’s just finished writing a paper based on some of my data – with my consent, of course – but I’ve asked him to remove my name from the paper.”

So that’s the mystery of all those unanswered calls solved. “Uh-huh. And what’s the issue here?”

“I think he was insulted by my request. Young researchers generally jump at the chance to be included in the authorship of a paper. The fact I asked for the opposite suggests that I think the paper is of such low quality that I don’t want to be associated with it.”

Logan raises his eyebrows. “And is that what you think?”

“No, no, of course not. The data is sound.” Charles’ gaze rests on his discarded phone. “It’s the interpretations I disagree with, the conclusions drawn. To be fair to him, it’s partly my fault; he’s working off what I gave him, and I’ve had second thoughts since then. My original conclusions were far too optimistic.”

Logan doesn’t really get why any of this academic bullshit is important, but it clearly matters to Charles, so he spends a moment chewing over what Charles had said. “…So, what, he’s putting the wrong conclusions in the paper and that’s why you don’t want your name on it?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say it’s _wrong,_ ” Charles begins delicately, but Logan snorts.

“The look on your face says it all, Chuck.”

A flicker of a smile passes across Charles’ face, and finally he glances at Logan. His eyes are warm under his dark lashes. “I stand by what I said. His conclusions aren’t wrong, just different to mine. Besides, in a field like psychology, there aren’t always clear-cut answers.”

Oh, yeah, Charles used to do that fancy psychology shit, didn’t he? “Guess so. What’s the paper about anyway?”

Charles looks back at the phone. His fingers tap at the desk, a restless, uneasy drumbeat. “The impact of family dynamics on alcoholism.”

***

Logan doesn’t _do_ domesticity. It’s just a fact of life, one of those universally acknowledged truths like the fact fire burns, water drowns, and most of the people working for Shaw are irredeemable scumbags.

None of which explains why he got that cheap greasy takeout he knows Charles has a secret fondness for, made Charles tea, dragged Charles out of his study, and now they’re on the goddamn couch together watching some show about a hardened mercenary going all soft and protective over his adoptive kid.

Charles has his eyes glued to the screen. Logan, on the other hand, spends more time watching Charles than watching the show. After that weird scene in the study earlier, it’s nice seeing Charles so engrossed in mindless entertainment like any other normal person; he frowns subtly, mouthing silent comments to himself every so often, chewing on his lip during the quiet moments in between.

But Charles is too observant to let him get away with it. As the credits roll, Charles raises one eyebrow. “So I’m guessing you didn’t enjoy the show very much, is that right?”

Logan makes a vague grumbling noise, looking away. Undeterred, Charles grins at him, bright with laughter. “What was it that you didn’t like? The plot? The characters?”

Then _something_ shifts, and Logan’s instinct for danger kicks in just a second too late as Charles suddenly prowls closer. His arms slide around Logan’s shoulders as he settles into his lap, thighs bracketing Logan’s, straddling him like this is something they’ve done hundreds of times before.

He’s very warm. Solid. His pupils are dilated.

Logan _wants._ Sensing weakness, Charles leans closer.

“Or maybe you were distracted by something else?”

Charles is still grinning despite Logan’s glare, the type of cheeky smile that always makes Shaw take a hand to him.

Fuck. _Shaw._

“Get _off._ ”

“Getting off was the plan, yes,” Charles says breezily, and what happened to him? This isn’t the Charles that Logan knows; it’s like somebody had scoured away all of Charles’ depth and replaced it with this _thing_ of plastic smiles and shameless, outrageous flirting. This is Shaw’s Charles.

Charles leans in, going for a kiss. Logan shoves him. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into _me?_ ” It takes all of Logan’s restraint not to grab Charles by the shoulder and give him a good shake, especially when Charles looks at him like this, all searching blue eyes and bitten-red lips.

Then Charles smiles again. “You’re worried about Sebastian, aren’t you?” He nods like he finally understands, arms still looped around Logan’s shoulders.

“Well, yeah–” Fucking hell, how come Charles still doesn’t get it? Logan grabs him and their heads knock together painfully enough that Logan blinks and Charles gasps, but neither of them look away. “That’s not the poi—”

“Sebastian won’t mind, you know.” Charles is calm. Too calm. He presses closer again, forehead resting against Logan’s. “We all want this.”

Logan goes still. His fingers dig into Charles’ shoulders. Charles takes it without complaint even though Logan knows he’s holding on hard enough to leave bruises – the same way Shaw does.

“All of us. We want this,” Charles repeats. “I would never put you in danger.”

It takes another second, but Logan’s voice finally unsticks from his throat. “You’re delusional if you think the boss is gonna be fine with you panting after anyone that’s not him.”

Charles just keeps _watching_ him, their foreheads still pressed together. He looks utterly self-assured. “Who do you think brought up the idea in the first place?”

“…You’re joking.”

“You just don’t understand him as well as you think. Sebastian knows that this–” Charles grinds down against him, slow, “–means nothing.”

“Means nothing,” Logan repeats flatly. Charles’ warmth surrounds him, but it does nothing to thaw out the cold pit that settles in his gut.

Charles blinks, stricken. “Oh. Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Sometimes Logan feels like a dog on a chain being yanked back and forth until he can’t take it any longer and the feral rage explodes out of him. “Well you better start talking straight for once, Chuck, ‘cause I’ve got no idea what _you_ actually want.”

And, finally, Charles lowers his eyes, looking at nothing. “I’m sorry. I…” He holds Logan tightly, clinging almost, then lets go. “We should stop.”

Part of Logan is relieved. The other part _howls_ at coming so close only to, what, go back to the way they were before, drowning in riddles and loaded glances? “Oh no you don’t,” he growls, grabbing Charles by that fancy shirt of his and hauling him close. “We need to talk.”

Charles goes tense, then he nods sharply. “Not here.” He leans in close, lips grazing the shell of Logan’s ear. “Sebastian has eyes here and believe me, _this_ is the sort of thing he’ll never forgive.”

Then he climbs off Logan and stalks away with the air of a lover spurned, leaving Logan to contemplate the horrifying implications of the fact _Shaw_ _has cameras in this room._

***

The rooftop again. Logan slouches against the railing and exhales, watching the twist and turn of cigar smoke. Before him lies the city, an immense shadowy creature that’s constantly changing, evolving, old buildings torn down and replaced by new every single day. But the heart of the city never changes.

The fog is heavier than ever tonight. Thick grey banks of it smother the city, blurring neon lights into an indistinct haze, and even the buildings go faded around the edges as the fog dissolves everything into vague impressions of light and shadow. Logan breathes in the smog, breathes out smoke, weary down to his bones.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been up here before he hears footsteps followed by the quiet noise of the door swinging open on well-oiled hinges. Charles, for once, doesn’t seem sure of his welcome. He hovers a few feet back, his silver tongue silent.

Logan’s had enough. “What are you waiting for, a handwritten invitation? Get over here.” He stubs out his cigar and puts it away, jerking his head at Charles.

Charles joins him with a smile, one that’s soft and _real,_ nothing like the one he uses on Shaw. It’s the sort of look that makes Logan itch to pull him in for a kiss and worry about everything else later.

Big mistake. They both deserve more than that. “Talk,” Logan grunts, before his unruly thoughts can tempt him further. “Why are you with Shaw?”

For a second, Charles looks like he’s ready with some glib reply, but then he sighs and looks away. “You always did know how to go straight for the important questions.”

“Answer the damn question.”

In the dark, in the fog, Charles’ irises are almost pure black. “I’m…” His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. “I’m with him because I want to be.”

“If you’re gonna lie–”

“It’s not a lie!” Charles whirls to face him, eyes flashing with rare temper. “What do you know anyway, you don’t know anything about me!”

“How the fuck would I know anything if you never tell me?”

As quickly as it had come, Charles’ anger snuffs out. He looks away again. “I think we’re done here,” he says coolly, that upper-class mask of his slamming back into place.

Logan sees red. Growling, he blocks Charles’ way with his body. “Stop trying to run, it’s not gonna help you.”

Charles squares his shoulders. “Let me go.”

Logan almost does. But he _knows_ Charles, whatever Charles might say; he can read him perfectly well, and right now Charles has the air of a man itching for a fight, itching for a way to release some of those secrets all bottled up inside him screaming to be let out.

Which, yeah, Logan can give him that.

“I don’t think so.” He takes a step closer. Charles falls back.

Another step. “Let’s try this again, Chuck. Charles. Why are you with Shaw?”

One last step, and Charles’ back hits the railing. The look on his face is every bit as steely as the sturdy guardrail. “I told you already. I’m with him because this is exactly where I want to be.”

“Yeah? And why do you want that, huh?”

Charles bites his lip. Some of the angry glittering light fades from him, and Logan presses forward ruthlessly. “You know he’s a criminal, right? Sooner or later, you’re gonna regret this.”

“Then I could ask you the same thing. Why are you working for Sebastian Shaw?”

“Don’t try to change the subj—”

“No. You don’t get to pull that card on me.”

Instinctively, Logan reaches for his cigar, only for Charles to grab his wrist. His grip is firm but surprisingly gentle. “Answer the question, Logan. Don’t run.”

Logan bristles at having his own words turned on him. Damn lawyers. “I’m not the one running.”

Charles doesn’t answer, just looks at him expectantly. His hand is still resting against Logan’s wrist, a counterpoint of warmth against the heavy damp chill of the air.

Heaving a sigh, Logan shrugs. He looks away, into the night, but there’s nothing there, nothing at all except for the fog. “Work is work, all right? Ain’t that deep.”

“A skilled bodyguard like you could have found work anywhere,” Charles comments, implacable. “The world is filled with opportunities. There are so many more worthy causes out there. Why stay with Shaw?”

Because he was the first person to offer Logan work outside of an early death in the cages. Because he came along at the right time, when Logan was recovering after a bout, sick of it all yet brimming with restless energy, eager as a puppy to jump at the first opportunity to do something different.

Because—

Because there’s not really any good reason _not_ to be working for Shaw. Hell if Logan wants to go around hunting for a worthy cause or whatever when it’s so much easier to drift along and lose himself to Charles, to the city, to anything that takes his mind off the gaping holes in his life.

Charles’ hand cups his cheek. There is a soft look in his eyes. Understanding? No, not just that – it’s the look of somebody who feels what Logan feels. Empathy. “We’re not so different, Logan.”

For the first time, Logan looks at him and sees the lost little kid hiding behind that clever, confident charisma.

“It’s not the same thing,” Logan protests half-heartedly. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Charles smiles. “So do you.”

Then he tugs Logan closer by the wrist and kisses him, slow and sweet, the sort of thing Logan’s usually got no patience for, but coming from Charles…

Shame he can’t taste him, not really. The lingering smell of smoke and ashes is too strong.

The fog continues to gather, shadowing the unchanging city. Logan doesn’t know which of them pulls away first. But that’s just the way it is; everything’s got to end eventually.

“Sebastian will be back soon.” Already the Charles he knows is disappearing, receding, once more being replaced by Shaw’s polished little toy. “You know as well as I do that we can’t carry on like this, it’d be suicide. Once he’s back, I’ll ask him to reassign you somewhere else.”

“So that’s it, huh.” One kiss. That’s not so bad. Logan tucks away the memory of Charles’ body against his own and prays he won’t forget it too soon.

“You know this is for the best.”

_Nah, fuck that,_ Logan almost says. _Come with me. We can get out together._

But he’s got nothing to offer Charles. He’s a worse choice than _Shaw_ , and that’s saying something.

“Charles,” he says instead. “Promise me you won’t stay with Shaw forever. Promise me that.”

Charles doesn’t reply.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can be considered a spiritual successor to [with eyes downcast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21558478), but it's up to your interpretation whether they actually take place in the same universe or not.


End file.
